


De Imperio of Arthuro

by TheAwesomeWriter



Series: Arthur's Reign [1]
Category: The Tudors (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwesomeWriter/pseuds/TheAwesomeWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is known in history that Arthur Tudor died aged fifteen from the sweating sickness. But, what if he didn't? What if he survived his illness and lived on to succeed his father as King of England? Would the fate of England - the separation from the Catholic Church and the creation of the Church of England - be the same or would history change? This is the story of Arthur's reign.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Coupling

**Author's Note:**

> I know this chapter is a bit short, but this is merely to start off the story. Later chapters will be longer - especially as I go through Arthur's reign. This story can also be found on my account on Fanfiction.net: KingdomHeartsNerd.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _The Tudors, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to History and Showtime. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter._

 **Rating:** _Mature. There will be sex._

 **Pairings:** _Arthur/Catherine, Henry VII/Elizabeth of York_

 **Genre:** _Romance/Drama_

 **Warnings:** _This story is an 'M' as it contains sex and may contain bad language; if these offend you, do not read this story._

 **Story Summary:** _What if Prince Arthur, eldest son and heir of King Henry VII, had not died in 1502 and had gone on to rule England with Catherine of Aragon as his Queen? Would the fate of England change or would history play out the same?_

 **Thank You:** _Thank you to Lady Eleanor Boleyn for brainstorming with me in the last stages of writing this story. If you like this, then go and read her stories. They're brilliant!_

* * *

**Chapter I: The Coupling**

* * *

**April, 1502**

Catherine of Aragon, daughter of the Catholic Monarchs, Isabella and Ferdinand, knelt on her knees at the feet of the statue of The Virgin Mary in the chapel at Ludlow Castle.

Her husband, Arthur, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester, was the heir apparent to King Henry VII and his beloved wife, Elizabeth of York. Normally, Arthur would pray with her - or, if not, certainly at the same time as her. Now, however, he lay dying in their bed from what the English called The Sweating Sickness.

Surely God did not plan for her to be a Penniless Virgin? Surely not after less than four months of marriage?

That was why she, a Spanish Infanta only able to speak a few words of English and ill with the sickness herself, whispered her prayers to the Virgin Mary in Spanish - praying for her husband's life, for their future, for the future of their Kingdom, for the Camelot they would make.

She heard the door to the Chapel creak open, but thought nothing of it, filtering her rosary between her fingers, her Spanish flying fast and quiet from her lips as light shone down at the Virgin Mary through the stained glass window behind it.

"Your Highness?"

At the voice of Margaret Pole, recently returned from childbirth, Catherine jumped.

"Your Highness? Forgive me. I am sorry to interrupt you at prayer, but you must be informed. The physicians say that Prince Arthur will live."

If she hadn't been in a place of prayer, a place devoted to God, Catherine would have screamed in delight. As she _was_ in a place devoted to God, she merely nodded her head, dismissed Margaret Pole with a grateful wave of her hand, thanked both the Lord and the Virgin Mary, then rushed off to her husband.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

Henry VII had been King of England for nearly seventeen years and, in all those years, he had never seen Elizabeth cry once; never with pain in childbirth, never with joy, never with relief. So when his wife, one hand on her stomach and the other over her mouth, fell to her knees screaming and crying in relief at the news of Arthur's recovery, he was rather shocked.

As was he when, after his mother scolded Elizabeth for her emotions, he saw the fire light in his wife's eyes, saw the Plantagenet strength rise in her, saw the last remnants of Elizabeth Woodville flare into life, as she rose and unleash all her fury at his mother.

"-And if you think, _Lady Margaret,_ that I am not going to celebrate the health and recovery of my son with the subjects of myself and my husband, then you are very much mistaken." As Elizabeth stood, apoplectically angry, in the doorway, Henry could, most definitely, see his mother-in-law in his wife. "I will talk with you, Lady Richmond, when you have learned your place in this court."

"Elizabeth, you must-"

" _'Must'_ is not used for Princesses and Queens, Madam, and you will do well to remember that I am both." Elizabeth's voice was colder than Henry had ever heard it - even colder than the early years, where they had just been falling in love, when everything had been political - as she glared at his mother who was gaping like a dead fish. For a moment, he saw the part of his wife that, if given free reign, could rule England herself, the part that had blossomed after Elizabeth Woodville had died and her restrictive influence had departed to what he assumed was hell. "You, _My Lady_ , are none and neither! Nor, despite your wishes, will you ever be. _I,_ Elizabeth, am the Queen. I am the mother of the heirs, the true Princess of England, the reason your son was able to keep his throne in the early years of his reign, the reason that the Plantagenet Blood - the claim your grandchildren have to the English throne - runs in their veins! You owe your livelihood to me. And, I believe it is about time that I did something with that knowledge."

She dipped the shallowest curtsey possible to Margaret, dropped into a full curtsey to her husband and then left, the door slamming shut with a loud crash behind her. Henry bowed to his mother and followed his wife. Despite all the love he had for his mother - who had changed sides, murdered, lied, schemed and more to get him where he was - he couldn't help but laugh. His mother had been very high handed lately and it would be good for her to realise that he was King and Elizabeth was, indeed, his wife and Queen.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

At the news of his mother's words to his grandmother, Arthur roared with laughter, his thin, lithe body shaking with mirth. Catherine, unlike Arthur, merely smirked to herself and gave one particularly hard jab of her needle at the mention of Lady Margaret, whom she had grown to dislike. While Arthur, still recovering, sat in bed, Catherine, having recovered herself from the sickness, sat in front of the roaring fire sewing a shirt for Arthur.

Most definitely assured of her faith in God, the Lord having saved her brother, Juan, from death, and now her husband, Catherine felt safe in England. She had not loved Arthur when she had arrived, but she had fallen in love with him now, even if he hadn't fallen in love with her.

After Sir Richard Pole left, Arthur reclined back in the bed, groaning a little to himself. He didn't want to make Catherine worry about him - again - if he could help it. She may not love him, but he had, most definitely, fallen in love with her; he hadn't been at first - she'd be stubborn, Spanish, hot headed and communication had been a problem. He had done what his father had said: "Marry first. Fall in love later."

He saw her head shoot up at his groan, but waved a hand to placate her, watching as she went back to her sewing. Good lord, was he really _that_ small? The shirt she was sewing wouldn't even fit around Henry's fat stomach, let alone over his own head!

Fortunately, he mused, Ludlow Castle had grounds that he and Catherine could ride their horses around, that they could use to hide them as they made love.

His cheeks blushed bright red and he felt himself stir under the bed quilt, which he hastily moved to hide the evidence, and attempted to think of something, _anything,_ to keep the image from his mind. Despite that, he knew what he'd dream of that night: Catherine naked - that perfect backside, those perfect breasts, himself groaning her name into her hair as he rode her, her nails on his back.

"Arthur?"

He blinked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, and turned to look at her. "Sorry. I was thinking of - never mind. What did you want?"

She said something in Spanish and, from the rudimentary Spanish she had taught him, he understood one word: caballo.

"Of course," he said, smiling. "You do not need to ask me, Catherine."

She smiled, reaching out for him. He shook his head and waved her off. She, however, was determined; grasping him by the hand, she pulled him from the bed and from the room.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

"According to Arthur's physicians, he has recovered well," said Henry, holding up a letter for his mother to read. She did not take the letter, but frowned instead, so he continued reading. "They say that he and Catherine went riding on the seventh."

"As long as he does not become reckless," warned Margaret Beaufort, clucking disapprovingly. "He is Elizabeth's child."

"And what, pray tell, Lady Margaret, does that mean?" Elizabeth was stood in the doorway, two greyhounds on leashes by her side. Henry was instantly on his feet; since the news of Arthur's recovery, his wife and mother had been at what could be described as nothing less than war.

"The Plantagenets were always known for being wild, Elizabeth," replied Margaret. "Your father being a good example."

"My father, Lady Margaret, was a kind man who brought this country back from tyranny."

Margaret's face went from white, to red, to purple and, despite everything, she could not help herself. Her hand collided with Elizabeth's cheek before she knew what she was doing; Henry moved, expecting Elizabeth to back down. "Your father - and all Plantagenets after him - were usurpers!"

"I think, My Lady Margaret," said Elizabeth rising herself up to her full height, a hand on her cheek; she didn't tower over her mother-in-law, being a head shorter than her husband, but still looked terrifying. "That the Plantagenets had the throne before Lancaster. King Henry IV overthrew the rightful King, Richard II, to take the throne for himself. So, My Lady, in all truth, Lancaster were the usurpers and the Plantagenets were merely regaining their throne." She turned to her husband, leaving her mother-in-law red faced with fury. "You mentioned that Sir Richard wrote?"

"He did," said Henry, handing the letter to his wife, who scanned it, her eyes lighting up with relief. "It is very good to hear that Arthur has recovered. I think I will write to him and ask if I may visit. There are too many Beauforts around here."

Handing the letter back to Henry, she kissed his cheek, then left, talking happily to her greyhounds.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

As the end of April rolled around, Arthur and Catherine had settled into a routine at Ludlow. Both in love with one another, neither would act on it and it made some moments awkward, especially as Arthur fully recovered and began riding more often, when the rain let up.

Catherine had felt very concerned when Arthur had commanded for a joust to be hosted to celebrate his recovery. Sitting in the newly built pavilion at Ludlow, she had to admit that Arthur did look very handsome clad entirely in metal with fake muscles made into his armour.

He trotted up to her on his armour clad horse and lowered the lance. "Your favour, My Lady?"

"With pleasure, good sir," said Catherine, rising to tie it around his lance.

He grinned a boyish grin to her and trotted off to his place. Round after round took place, with Sir Richard being unhorsed by Charles Brandon and Thomas Knyvett being unhorsed by Arthur. The final round came, leaving Arthur and Charles Brandon.

Both lowered their lances and thundered down the lists towards one another. Charles's lance smashed hard against the front of Arthur's helmet and he toppled, crashing to the floor with a thump. He heard a scream, heard Charles shout "Your Highness!" and saw Catherine running across the pavilion, before everything went black.

When his eyes opened a mere minute later, he heard Charles cry out with relief as he sat up, blinking to regain his vision.

"Give him some air."

Sir Richard shepherded everyone aside, to allow Arthur to breath.

"Charles," said Arthur, smiling ruefully at his loss. "Well done."

"I humbly forfeit my win, Your Highness!" said Charles, bowing, hat to his large muscular chest, his face white.

"Not at all," said Arthur. "The loss was mine."

Charles was shooed away when the physician arrived.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

Arthur arrived at the chambers he shared with Catherine that night. Much to his relief, only the helmet had been damaged. While he hadn't been damaged and Catherine was unharmed, he knew that his mother would be worried sick, that his father would be furious and that his grandmother would blame Catherine.

"For someone not in love with their husband, you gave quite a scream out there in the pavilion," said Arthur, smiling at her as he climbed in next to her. As he climbed into bed, Catherine smiled at him, lying down on the pillow.

"For someone not in love with their wife, you gave quite a show in trying to impress me," she replied.

"You-?" he frowned for a moment and, to her credit, Catherine looked sympathetic. "You think I don't love you?"

"Do you?" she frowned.

"I would never have tried to impress you today if I didn't."

She frowned and, seizing a burst of courage inside him, Arthur kissed her deeply on the lips. For a moment, she seemed shocked, then he felt her pushing back and moved himself on top of her. Pushing against her, he felt her part her legs and plunged passionately into her, his lips against hers, his body bucking, her hands on his shoulders.

As she tipped her head back in pleasure and cried his name, Arthur moved down her body, his head in her hair, pressing kisses to the nape of her neck. Moving further down her body, he kissed down her neck, groaned her name and came hard with a cry. Rolling over her he slumped back onto the bed, his chest heaving, his body sweating.

He felt the bed shift as she rolled over, lowering her head onto his chest. Staring up at him, she smiled. "So," she began, coyly. "When did you fall in love with me?"

"During my recovery," he replied, his hand snaking it's way over her waist. "When did you fall in love with me?"

"The same time," she said, a hand running across the thin layer of hair on his chest. "I've been awkwardly avoiding you for months."

"I know," he said, kissing her flame red hair. "I've been trying to think of anything except you, because my passion for you revealed itself every time I did. Now, however, I do not have to worry."

"Nor do I."

And, thinking happily of her, he pushed her back onto the bed, kissed her passionately and entered her again. After several more rounds the couple collapsed, entirely spent, into the bed, where they immediately curled up amongst one another.

"When will you visit me at night?"

"I have orders," replied Arthur, thinking back to the list of orders that Sir Richard Pole had been given by his grandmother. "To publically visit you one night a week. The other six I am to remain alone."

"Oh," she said, frowning and pulling away from him. She felt his embrace tighten and he pulled her back, kissing her forehead.

"I will, of course, obey the first part," he replied, grinning as she looked up to him. "The second I shall conform to publically - then, I will come and visit you. There is a secret door behind your bookcase and mine; it leads to a secret passage that goes through the battlements so that no-one will ever know."

"I am glad," replied she, kissing him passionately as he lowered his head to kiss her. "Your grandmother will want a child from us soon."

"I know she will," he said. "But that does not mean that we cannot have some fun while we make our child. I believe there is the perfect backside of my wife that I wish to explore before our child is born."

"Oh, is there?" flirted Catherine, smirking.

He cocked an eyebrow, grinned boyishly, and suddenly felt another burst of energy surge through his body as he rolled Catherine over and crushed his lips against hers, pulling the quilt up over them, his hand snaking down to her backside.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

Catherine's eyes flickered open the next morning and, instantly, she caught sight of Arthur smiling at her. He leaned forward and kissed her, smiling as he lowered himself to her stomach and kissed it.

"I hope you're pregnant," he said, grinning boyishly up at her from his position by her stomach.

"Arthur!" she exclaimed, shocked, though a smile crossed her face.

"It would convince my grandmother that you are fertile - and that I am capable of fathering an heir. My grandmother always complains that Mama's father liked his women too much. What can be wrong with that? _I_ like the woman I am looking at. The only one I ever will. My wife, my future Queen, the mother of my heirs."

Catherine smiled as Arthur pulled himself up the length of her body and crushed his lips against her's as he entered her.

"You wish to bed me for a means other than producing heirs?" she asked, as their kiss parted. "Is that not sinful?"

"Perhaps," he said, smiling as he came into her. "But I will make it richly sinful. I want you to know that I lay with you because I want too, not because you are my family's broodmare, that I bed you because it is my desire too - a desire born out of love."

"What will it be?" she asked. "Our child? A boy first - to secure the line? Or-?"

"A girl first," he said, surprising her. "Mary or Isabella, after my sister or your mother."

"A girl?" she asked. "Why do you think that?"

"I believe that our first born child will be a girl, like your mother's was; a boy second. Grandmother will put less pressure on us when you have a girl; she will know that you are fertile."

"My brother can stand as godfather."

"If you wish."

"I do," she replied.

He smiled, leaned down, and kissed her.

 


	2. Prince, Princess, Plantagenet

* * *

  **Disclaimer:** _The Tudors, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to History and Showtime. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter._

 **Rating:** _Mature. There will be sex._

 **Pairings:** _Arthur/Catherine, Henry VII/Elizabeth of York_

 **Genre:** _Romance/Drama_

 **Warnings:** _This story is an 'M' as it contains sex and may contain bad language; if these offend you, do not read this story._

 **Story Summary:** _What if Prince Arthur, eldest son and heir of King Henry VII, had not died in 1502 and had gone on to rule England with Catherine of Aragon as his Queen? Would the fate of England change or would history play out the same?_

 **Thank You:** _Thank you to Lady Eleanor Boleyn for brainstorming with me in the last stages of writing this story. If you like this, then go and read her stories. They're brilliant!_

* * *

**Chapter II: Prince, Princess, Plantagenet**

* * *

**May, 1502**

Catherine awoke one bright May morning to find her head against Arthur's chest, the red-blonde hairs on his chest gently brushing her cheeks. Yawning to herself and gently stretching, she thought back to the previous night. Something had changed in Arthur last night; he'd been the same man, but had, for some reason, been a beast possessed at the sight of her and had been growling with passion as he'd plunged repeatedly into her, as he'd explored her body with his lips, as he'd kissed his way along her, inciting gasps of passion from her.

Since his recovery he had gained weight too; unlike Henry, who was round and fat, Arthur's weight gain had filled him out well; his chest and arms and thighs had grown more muscular, giving him the physique of a warrior, and his face had obtained a more adult like appearance to it, with both the chiselled jaw and his deepening voice making him look older than his fifteen years.

She felt Arthur's lips close against her own and grinned, looking up into his grey eyes as he pushed her back into the bed.

"How long have you been awake?"

"A few minutes," he replied, between kisses. "Just long enough to see your naked body, to think of bedding you again, for the next thirty or forty years."

"You will still bed me then?" she asked, grinning happily.

"Oh, every day," he breathed, plunging into her, his next words punctuated with his thrusts. "Every. Single Day. Wherever. And whenever. I can. _Ohhhhhh!_ "

"Even if my duenna forbids it?"

"Especially if your duenna forbids it," he replied. "I know she came with you from Spain, but I do not like her."

"Doña Elvira is trusted by my mother and controls my household."

"You should change that; appoint Margaret Pole as the head of your household - at least she does not frown when I come to your bed."

"I admit, Doña Elvira's frowning is starting to become a nuisance. You have been my husband for six months now - you are entitled to come to my bed."

"I do hope that is not why you let me in to your bed? I hope you let me in because you want me there."

"Always," she said, kissing him. "I will talk with Lady Pole later. Doña Elvira cannot always control my life; I will be the Queen of England one day."

"And the mother of my heirs," added Arthur, kissing her. "Though I think the two of us need a little more practice first."

  **~*~King Arthur II~*~**  

The grounds of Hever Castle, owned by Sir William Boleyn, rang with laughter as four young children ran amongst the grass, tiny dark and flaxen heads bobbing up and down, disappearing and reappearing in the long grass as they ran.

"I received a request for marriage today. For Anne." It was Thomas Boleyn who had spoken. He and his wife, Lady Elizabeth Howard, newly emerged from confinement after the birth of their stillborn son, walked nearby between the trees, watching their children. "From the Carey Family. William - their eldest son."

"Oh, that's wonderful," she replied.

"I turned them down. Offered them Catherine instead," he added, as Elizabeth's head turned to him. "Everyone improves the standing of their families with their daughters. I think Anne can do a lot better than a merchant's son."

"And Catherine can't?" inquired Elizabeth. "I think you underestimate her." 

"Oh, no, that's not true," replied Thomas. "I think she's the kinder of the two, quite possibly the fairer - almost as kind and fair as Mary. To get ahead in this world you need more than fair looks and a kind heart."

"I beat you! I beat you!" chirruped the one year old Anne as she toddled ahead of her elder sisters and brother, Mary, Catherine and Thomas.

"Hey!" squeaked Mary as Anne passed her and, reaching the end of the field, cheered. Laughing, the others toppled into her and all four went sprawling to the floor.

"Well done, Anne," called Thomas. "Well done, children."

In the distance, Sir William Boleyn and his wife, Lady Margaret Butler, watched their son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren.

"He's a lot like you, Margaret," said William as they walked, arm in arm, through the grounds of Hever Castle. "Always looking to increase his standing rather than care for his family. Our little Annie was in love with John Shelton; you told her to grow up and marry someone you had picked for her - one of your cousins, if I remember - and Thomas agreed with you. Very fortunately for her, I was the one with the final decision, and I let her marry the man she loved. It proved fruitful too - I have received word from her that she is due to have a child in the new year."

"Her husband is not of a high enough standing," replied Margaret. "He may be the son of a Knight, but he has no title of his own."

"The Sheltons have owned Shelton Hall longer than we have owned property, Margaret," replied William. "The Butlers may be noble, but the Sheltons are of significantly more noble standing than we Boleyns."

Before Margaret could reply, Thomas's voice drifted over too them; evidently, he and Elizabeth had finished their conversation. "...It will be Anne who raises the standing of this family, Elizabeth. She is the one with both beauty and brains - whoever marries her will be of high standing and the rest of her siblings will owe their marriages to her. Ah, mother, father."

William acknowledged his son with a nod and embraced Elizabeth while Margaret hugged their son. Kissing his wife on the cheek, William returned to Hever Castle and gestured for one of the servants to approach.

"Fetch Sanders. I have something I wish to discuss with him..."

   **~*~King Arthur II~*~**

"Salir."

When Arthur returned to Catherine's chambers that night, he was just in time to catch sight of Dona Elvira storming angrily away. At the sight of him, she spat at his feet and swept angrily away.

"You have dismissed her then?"

"Yes," sighed Catherine, lowering herself into a chair, a hand to her forehead. "Shall I send for Lady Pole now?"

"I will," said Arthur. Leaning over, he kissed her red hair. "You have dealt with your Spanish lady. Margaret is English - I will do it." He got up and, opening the door, asked Sir Richard Pole to enter. "Sir Richard," he began. "I was wondering if you could find your wife and ask her here? The Princess and I need to talk with her."

"Certainly, Your Highness," he replied. Bowing to each, he swept away.

A few minutes later, Margaret Pole arrived, dropping into a curtsey; dark haired and twenty nine she had recently returned to Catherine's service after childbirth.

"Lady Pole," greeted Arthur, smiling. "By now, I assume that Sir Richard has informed you that Catherine's duenna, Doña Elvira, has left her service."

"He has, Your Highness," replied Margaret. "He was very concerned."

"He has no need to be," said Arthur. "Doña Elvira has proven herself to be more concerned with following the orders of Queen Isabella than caring about Catherine. That is why Catherine and I summoned you. It is our wish that you replace Doña Elvira as Catherine's duenna -- or, rather, her governess and chaperone. My grandmother will, no doubt, disapprove of this decision, but my father sent me to Wales to rule it and learn how to rule England, so that is what I am going to do. Do you accept, Lady Pole?"

"I do, Your Highness," Margaret dipped a curtsey as she replied, almost sinking to the floor. "I will prove myself worthy and loyal."

"You have already done that - or, you have to _me_ , Lady Pole. My father and grandmother will always think of the Plantagenets as nothing but dangerous, but I am the future of England. _I_ decide who is loyal and who is not and my word is law at Wales."

"Yes, Your Highness," said Margaret. "When do you require my services to the Princess to begin?"

"I am here tonight, Lady Pole," said Arthur and Margaret was barely able to stifle her grin at the implications of his words. "So, I will see the Princess to my - I mean, _her_ \- bed. Tomorrow morning will be when Princess Catherine requires your services next and, of course, Princess Catherine and I will raise your salary for your new position as the head of Catherine's ladies."

"Thank you, Your Highness. I may take my leave?"

"Certainly," replied Arthur. Dropping a curtsey, Margaret turned to leave. "Oh, and Lady Pole, my father and grandmother are not to hear a word of this until Catherine and I choose to tell them."

"Of course, Your Highness. No-one but you, I, and, with your permission, Sir Richard, will know of this."

"Granted."

With a final curtsey, Margaret left the room.


	3. The Fallout

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _The Tudors, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to History and Showtime. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter._

 **Rating:** _Mature. There will be sex._

 **Pairings:** _Arthur/Catherine, Henry VII/Elizabeth of York_

 **Genre:** _Romance/Drama_

 **Warnings:** _This story is an 'M' as it contains sex and may contain bad language; if these offend you, do not read this story._

 **Story Summary:** _What if Prince Arthur, eldest son and heir of King Henry VII, had not died in 1502 and had gone on to rule England with Catherine of Aragon as his Queen? Would the fate of England change or would history play out the same?_

 **Thank You:** _Thank you to Lady Eleanor Boleyn for brainstorming with me in the last stages of writing this story. If you like this, then go and read her stories. They're brilliant!_

* * *

**Chapter III: The Fallout**

* * *

**June - August, 1502**

**Lady Margaret Pole,**

**Ludlow Castle,**

**The Welsh Marshes**

It surprises me that the news of Doña Elvira's dismissal has not reached court sooner. A month after Doña Elvira was dismissed from Princess Catherine's service, the strongly worded letter arrives from The Countess of Richmond recommending that Doña Elvira should be reinstated for the "peace of mind of both England and Spain".

The fallout from the arrival of The Countess of Richmond's letter is dramatic and quick - Princess Catherine seems distant, unsure whom she can trust, unsure of whom has betrayed her, while Prince Arthur flies into a rage, threatening his friends and servants; he's smaller in build than Charles Brandon -- idiot that he is -- but Brandon almost cowers at the fury on His Highness's face as Prince Arthur holds him against the wall by his shoulders and growls "Tell me what you know!", shaking Brandon wildly when he protests that he knows nothing.

When a second letter from the Countess of Richmond arrives it falls to me, as Princess Catherine's principal lady-in-waiting, to deliver it to her. I have a feeling that this is not going to end well.

"Your Highness?"

With a curtsey I interrupt Princess Catherine in the middle of her sewing - a half sewn shirt for Prince Arthur. She glances up, brow furrowed in concentration, blue eyes noticing the letter in my hand. The Prince of Wales is there too, muscular, strong, grey eyed, and notices it too. He takes the letter from me, unfolds it and scans the page. His brow furrows and his eyes harden, cold, angry. He doesn't lower the letter and it crinkles in his hand as he grasps it too hard.

When he speaks, his voice is filled with fury. "My grandmother," he says, voice clipped, trembling with constrained anger, teeth almost grinding together. "Will be paying us a visit - as will my mother and father."

Princess Catherine, God bless her, laughs unrestrainedly as she speaks. "The Countess of Richmond has probably complained to your father. They will be coming here to force you and I to accept Doña Elvira back as my duenna."

"Well," bristles Prince Arthur, and for a moment I can see the fifteen year old man that he is, the child spoiling for a fight with his parents, as he throws the letter into the hearth. "They won't succeed."

  **~*~King Arthur II~*~**

My cousin, the Queen, alights from the litter she is travelling in when it stops in the courtyard of Ludlow Castle at the end of June. Paler than usual, a little plumper, she's smiling genially - a smile that breaks into pure happiness as her eldest son appears at the doorway to Ludlow Castle.

"Arthur!" she exclaims, and pulls him into a hug, crushing him close to her. Of all things that are certain, this is one of them - she, at least, is not angry with her son. As the two separate, her son straightens up, a head taller, maybe more, than the tiny woman in front of him. He sweeps her a bow, then smiles shyly at her.

King Henry and The Countess of Richmond approach from slightly further away; the King has evidently paused to help his mother down from her horse, resulting in their lateness. By their side, the royal children: Princesses Margaret and Mary, Princes Henry, Edmund and Edward.

King Henry, as usual, is dark haired and stern, his mother, The Countess of Richmond, much the same. Both are speaking to the Prince, but I cannot hear their words from my distance, stood to the side, rising from a curtsey with Princess Catherine.

I dip another curtsey as they pass and, at the command from Princess Catherine, follow behind, the head of her ladies, always there to serve.

"Is there anything to eat?" asks Prince Henry as we head into the entrance hall of Ludlow Castle. "I'm starving."

Though I will never say out loud, he appears to be anything but starving. He's tall - almost as tall as the Prince of Wales, barely a head between both of them, despite four years and nine months between them - and, like the Prince of Wales, has the flaming red hair of his Woodville grandmother, the hair that once enraptured a King and tore a country apart, and the Woodville nose. That is where the similarities end; the Duke of York, eleven, is much broader than his father and brother, shoulders filling out as he ages, doublet buttons stretching tight around the roundness of his stomach, plump face ruddy cheeked.

"Henry!" scolds his mother, still pale. "You can wait for dinner. You ate before we came."

Finally, now with a pouting Prince Henry and happy grinning royal children, we reach the main chambers of Ludlow. This is, for me, a familiar sight. Prince Arthur's chamber is down the hall, Princess Catherine's a few doors down. Rooms, prepared especially for the King, Queen and the Countess of Richmond, are scattered along the hall. The King's, of course, is the best room in the castle, and the Queen's is just as beautiful. The rooms for The Countess of Richmond, banished, probably at Princess Catherine's suggestion, are on the other side of the castle.

The Queen's retinue of ladies follow her as she enters her chambers; some of them I know, some by acquaintance, others by mention, others through family: Anne Green, thirteen year old daughter of Sir Thomas Green, who looks absolutely terrified to be here, poor girl; Lady Elizabeth Howard, wife of Thomas Boleyn, daughter of the Earl of Surrey; Lady Anne Neville, my second cousin's daughter and wife of William Conyers; Lady Anne Percy, daughter of the late Earl of Northumberland and barely a year older than the Prince of Wales; my sister-in-law, Eleanor, wife of Sir John Verney.

None of them acknowledge me as they pass, for they cannot leave the Queen, but Eleanor acknowledges me with a barely noticeable nod of her head. I expect nothing different from my sister-in-law who, like I, is loyal to the Queen, not to mention a Pole.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

"Was The Countess of Richmond terribly angry?"

My sister-in-law, Eleanor, and I are sat together in the gardens of Ludlow. At this time of day, early enough in the morning for the Prince and Princess to still be sleeping, but late enough to be light, we're unlikely to be disturbed. Eleanor's sigh gives me the answer - and it's not one I was hoping for.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, she was. She said that the Prince had inherited the rash nature of the Plantagenets - and, I mean no offence, Margaret, I am merely repeating her words - and that the Queen was to blame."

"And the Queen?"

"I doubt she cares," says Eleanor as she smiles in that annoying manner that she is so terribly accustomed to doing, that little grin that implies she knows a deep, dark secret that no-one else does; as a favourite of the Queen, she probably _does_. "She has more important things to be worrying about than the temper of her mother-in-law. Once again, she's sailing high, for she has missed her courses and the Physicians say that she is with child again - but you are not to tell anyone until she announces it. The Prince of Wales will not receive much of a punishment. No matter how angry the King gets, once the Queen asks him to stop, he will. He won't want her worried or stressed, he won't want the child hurt. The Countess of Richmond can grow as angry as she likes, shout as much as she likes, but the Queen wields the power at the moment."

I smile. "I wish the Queen well - and the baby," I say, crossing myself for forgetting the child. "But I cannot deny that The Countess of Richmond's displeasure makes me happy."

"It is fortunate that my late Mama is not around, Margaret," says Eleanor. "She would have had you horse whipped for saying that."

"Then I am fortunate that she died before Sir Richard and I married," I reply.

Eleanor freezes for all of two seconds and then bursts into roaring laughter, almost tumbling off the bench in sheer delight, and I remember why I like her, why she and I have become nigh on inseparable since I was forced into marriage with Sir Richard eleven years ago. "Oh," she sighs, wiping at her eyes. "I think she would have liked you, provided you never said a bad word about The Countess of Richmond."

"I think she would have liked her grandchildren too," I add. "The Poles with Royal Blood and the Verneys with noble blood. How is your son? He is thirteen now, is he not?"

"Fourteen last week," agrees Eleanor. "He longs to come to court, but I wish for him to wait for the Prince of Wales to become King which, god forbid, will not happen for many years." She crosses herself and then looks around as a door opens and Lady Elizabeth Boleyn, dark haired and twenty two, approaches.

"Lady Verney," she says, greeting my sister-in-law with a curtsey; I, as the daughter of a Duke, albeit one executed and attainted, outrank her by birth - there's no acknowledgement to me from her, something which makes Eleanor frown, but I merely cut her off with a shake of my head. I know that, once the King is dead, I shall be restored to my family titles, a favourite of the new King and Queen, and then Elizabeth Howard will be curtseying to me. "The Queen has awoken and requires her ladies. I have been sent to retrieve you."

Eleanor smiles sweetly; it's a milk and honey grin that would fool Elizabeth Howard's husband, but has little effect on the woman herself. Nonetheless, Eleanor rises, curtseys to me, takes my hand for a moment in an embrace, and then follows after Elizabeth Howard.

At the sight of Lady Ferrick's twelve year old daughter, Joan - Princess Catherine's newest lady-in-waiting who has probably been sent to find me; poor girl, to be given such a daunting task - I rise and head inside myself. She looks terribly relieved at the sight of me.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

Princess Catherine seems upset when I arrive at her chambers with Joan Ferrick. So upset, in fact, that she barely acknowledges me. As I take my seat, it is the Spanish voice of Ines De Venengas, one of Princess Catherine's Spanish ladies, who informs me of what has happened.

"Von of ze Countess of Rechmond's ladies-in-waiting arrived zis morning to retrieve ze Prince of Vales."

Now Princess Catherine's sadness and upset makes sense; if The Countess of Richmond has sent one of her ladies-in-waiting, rather than waiting for the King to summon the Prince, it means that she is, most definitely, angry and has no intention of allowing the Queen any say in the punishment of Prince Arthur.

As if on cue, as if summoned by my thoughts, Prince Arthur returns. Red faced, fists clenched, stomping around like the angry teenager he is, the door slams behind him, almost clattering off it's hinges with the force that it crashes shut with. Roaring in a rage of furious anger, he aims a kick at one of the nearby chairs and sends it toppling, smashing to the ground, making Princess Catherine jump.

"Arthur," Princess Catherine, probably used to her father's furious rages or maybe her mother's, rises and takes him by the arm. He almost shakes her off, but a hand on his back, holding him close, letting him seethe inwardly at the slight to his authority in Ludlow, calms him. His face whitens again, the fury leaving his cheeks, his fists uncurl and he buries his head into Princess Catherine's red hair.

Over Prince Arthur's shoulder, she raises her head and makes a gesture with her hand to dismiss us. Rising, we file out, Joan Ferrick rushing off to find her mother, a lady-in-waiting to the Queen.

"Lady Pole."

The voice is familiar, horribly so. "Lady Richmond," I say as I dip a curtsey to her, as low as required, and then rise, face to face with the older woman. She's gable hooded, dressed in black, stern as usual. "May I be of service to you?"

"How did Prince Arthur react to his punishment?"

I expected her to be direct, so this does not take me by surprise; Lady Margaret survived the turbulent times of the wars between Lancaster and York and is adept at surviving, no matter the cost.

"Like a Prince," I lie and, no matter how much I disapprove of Prince Arthur's tantrums, I dislike The Countess of Richmond much more. "He accepted his punishment and was speaking with the Princess when we were all dismissed."

"I see," she says, frowning. Her wrinkled hands clasp together and she stares shrewdly at me with her dark, lifeless soulless eyes. "And, what did Prince Arthur and Princess Catherine speak of?"

"I could not say, My Lady," I reply. It may not be what she wants to hear, but it is the truth. "Princess Catherine dismissed us when Prince Arthur arrived. As much as she trust us, My Lady, we are not privy to everything that occurs between the two of them. Now, if you will excuse me, Lady Richmond, my sister-in-law and husband await. I may also call on the Queen if she allows me to."

I start to walk past her, when she grasps me with her bony fingers. I stare at her, unbowed, unbroken. She may have buried my Plantagenet name behind that of Sir Richard's on my marriage, but she has not broken my spirit.

"I know that you are lying, Lady Pole," she whispers. "And I will use it to prove to the King that you are disloyal to the crown and should be removed from any royal service and banished to Stourton Castle."

"I am a loyal subject, My Lady," I assure her. "Perhaps not to you, but certainly to my cousin, the Queen, and the Prince and Princess, of course." She frowns at me and starts walking away. "My Lady?" I say, and she stops and turns back to face me. Rising up to my full height, I speak, clear as day to her. "Before you threaten me, remember that it is the womb of a Plantagenet that keeps your son on the throne, that has provided for the stability of England. It may not be _my_ womb, but I _am_ a Plantagenet. Good day to you."

This time, it is I who depart, leaving the older woman gaping like a fishwife at the spot where I had been stood.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

Even thought it is against his grandmother's express wishes, as June rolls over into July, Prince Arthur returns to his wife's chambers, entirely unashamed and, most definitely, hot-blooded and concupiscent. He sweeps Princess Catherine into a kiss as I let him into her chambers and looks like he's almost eating her with how tightly he presses her body to his.

She dismisses us into the other room, but the Prince is already unlacing her bodice, kissing down her shoulders as he does so. Ines covers the innocent eyes of Joan Ferrick and Mary Godfrey, the twelve and ten year old girls that are two of Princess Catherine's ladies, as we leave, but nothing can cover their ears.

As we sit in the other room, sewing, waiting for the Princess to summon us, the groaning and moaning from the two of them, Prince Arthur's deep, Princess Catherine's feminine, combines with the creaking of the bed and Prince Arthur cries out loudly, before everything falls silent.

When we are summoned back, Prince Arthur's face is red from exertion, his chest heaving from his activities and glistening with sweat. He's wearing nothing but his breeches showing off his tall physique, broad shoulders, thickly packed chest and slim waist. Princess Catherine, on the other hand, is wearing nothing but her lose fitting, flowing nightgown to retain some of her decency.

Prince Arthur sweeps down and kisses her, whispering "Can I come to your chambers tonight?" as he does so. Grinning at her reply, he dresses himself and sweeps away to find his friends, victorious in both claiming his wife and disobeying his grandmother.

We dress Princess Catherine and, as we do, she puts a hand to her still flat stomach. "This time, Margaret," she says to me, assuredly, quietly, for my ears alone. "This time I am sure I have conceived."

When we are dismissed, once Princess Catherine is dressed, I follow Joan Ferrick and Mary Godfrey as they head out into the courtyard, whispering together, Mary looking terrified. To be honest, I cannot say I blame her. She may only be ten, but she has already been betrothed to the Baron Fearnley; he, fifty seven to her ten, was given the title by the King after the Battle of Bosworth Field. His wife died two years ago, leaving him childless and wifeless - she had one stillborn daughter and then never conceived again.

Her future marriage means that she will, one day, be forced to leave Princess Catherine's employment to become a wife to a man older than her grandfather, a man who prefers women to be silent and conceive for him.

"Poor child," I turn; it's Anne Percy who has spoken. Blonde haired, almost seventeen and incredibly beautiful, not to mention terribly eligible for marriage with the large dowry her father has left for her, she frowns over at Joan and Mary as she continues. "The elder loves the idea of marriage - I hear her talking, sometimes, about who she's going to marry, about how many children she is going to have. She's aimed high, set her sights on the Marquess of Hexham's son."

"He's thirty two," I reply. "And we both know that he is not interested in her. He's still in mourning for his late wife."

"I'm not sure he would have been happy with her in the end," Anne notes as we head out into the gardens of Ludlow. "He never really believed in the notion of fidelity. As for little Mary Godfrey, poor girl, she's terrified of marriage."

"Can you blame her, given who her father has betrothed her too?"

Anne concedes the point with a tilt of her head. "No," she replies levelly, as we walk on. "I can't say I do. Poor girl."

"Talk with the Queen," I say, whispering quietly so that the passing ladies cannot hear us. "If anyone can convince the King to break that marriage..."

Anne hums in agreement. "Yes," she agrees. "I will speak with the Queen later. Good day, Lady Pole."

"Lady Anne," I acknowledge, and drop into the required curtsey as we part. As she leaves my presence, she passes Joan and Mary. The two young girls have reached a nearby bench and have sat down. Joan, as usual, is speaking away wildly, rapidly, to poor little Mary, who looks positively ready to cry. Anne gives me a look over her shoulder as she passes them and heads indoors.

"Mistress Ferrick," I interrupt, striding to the bench and settling myself between them; Joan looks affronted, Mary terribly relieved. "I hear that you have aspirations of marriage."

"I do, Lady Pole," she replies, staring me in the face, back rigid, eyes locked with mine. "Though I do not believe that is any of your concern."

"It is my concern when the man you have aspirations to marry has no intention of marrying you," I reply. "Your father is merely a Knight and you have no brothers. You are not a very eligible match - someone who marries you will receive your family as an ally for as long as your father is alive; when he dies, and the family name becomes extinct, they will lose that alliance and the Marchioness of Hexham is more than aware of this. Now that her husband's niece has died and her son has lost his wife, she will be scouring the land for the most eligible women to marry her son."

"And why can a Knight's daughter not become a Marchioness?"

"Because you are not of a high enough standing, nor are you rich enough. If you wish to have aspirations for marriage, look to someone you may be able to marry - a Baron's son, or the son of a Knight, or the son of a Viscount, if you are lucky enough." I rise and turn to Mary. "The Princess wishes to see you," I inform her. It's a lie, but anything to get her away from Joan's horrible influence is a success.

As I turn to lead Mary away, I can see Joan glaring at my retreating back.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

Mary Godfrey's gruesome marriage is finalised in the final week of July, much to the young girl's sadness. She writes to her mother, her father, begging to be released from it. To no avail. Lady Godfrey's message arrives a few days later, ordering Mary to "do what is best for the advancement of your family and silence your opinions," and, at the words from her mother, the girl breaks down in tears and locks herself in her chambers from which she refuses to emerge.

"Is Mistress Godfrey well?" the Princess asks me after three days of Mary's absence, looking up from her own sewing.

"Yes, Your Highness," I reply and she frowns; Joan Ferrick's head raises slightly from her sewing and her hand remains extremely still, as if she is listening rather than focusing on her sewing. "She has received some bad news from home concerning her marriage."

The Princess frowns in understanding. "It is to occur then?" she asks.

"It is," I reply. "Mistress Godfrey is to marry the Baron Fearnley in the first week of August."

"So, Mistress Godfrey is to become Lady Fearnley and I am to lose my lady-in-waiting," she replies, her voice clipped, stern.

"Yes, Your Highness. The Countess of Richmond arranged everything."

"I see," replies the frowning Princess. "The Countess of Richmond evidently wishes for me to have ladies-in-waiting of the lowest stock."

"Perhaps, Your Highness," I reply and the corner of her mouth twitches into a smile. "But when the marriage was announced, Countess Lindell wrote to me, asking if I could find her a place amongst your ladies. Shall I write back to her and confirm her placement?"

"Lady Lindell is the daughter of Earl Winsten, is she not?"

"She is," I reply. "She left the service of the Countess of Richmond for a few years, to have her children, and then returned, but wishes to move from the Countess to your service."

"Write to her," says the Princess. "Anyone who dislikes the Countess is welcome in my service. And Mistress Ferrick, you are going to have to improve if you wish to listen in to private conversations." She adds the last to the now blushing Joan Ferrick who returns to her sewing amidst glares from Princess Catherine's Spanish ladies. Princess Catherine just laughs and returns to her own sewing.

"One more thing, Lady Pole," interrupts the Princess as I reach the door. "Mistress Godfrey. Tell her that I wish her to return to my service tomorrow morning."

"Your Highness," I curtsey to her and leave her presence.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

The first week of August arrives quickly, too quickly for Mary Godfrey's liking and she is, at the command of the Countess of Richmond, married to the Baron Fearnley in the chapel of Ludlow Castle. He's a tall, stern faced, incredibly slim man with his dark hair thinning under his cap.

The marriage, much to Mary Godfrey's distress, goes off without a hitch -- well, _almost._ Princess Catherine takes gleeful revenge on the Countess of Richmond by announcing, privately to those she trusts, that she, future Queen of England, wife to the Prince of Wales, is pregnant.

Lady Anne Lindell, Countess Lindell, frowns as she reaches over for her goblet. "That was dangerous of her," she confides in me. "If Lord Fearnley reports this to the Countess of Richmond-"

"He will," I interrupt. "But I think that is exactly what Princess Catherine wants."

"Why?" asks Lady Anne, frowning. "What good will it do?"

"It will do quite a lot of good," I assure her. "The Countess of Richmond cannot punish her. The Queen will be pleased and the King will be reassured that the future of his dynasty is secure - and Princess Catherine can use the excuse that she was saving money, that she announced her pregnancy at the wedding so that more expense did not need to be spent to throw another party for her to announce it at."

"Lady Richmond will not be pleased," adds Maria de Salinas, one of Princess Catherine's Spanish ladies, as she leans over to me. "Not pleased at all. Did you know that she was going to do this?"

"No," I reply. "No, I did not."

"Mary is going to have to learn how to live frugally," interrupts Joan Ferrick, smirking nastily. "Baron Fearnley is terribly poor."

"Yes," I say, frowning and Anne cuts off Joan Ferrick with a glare that only a mother can perfect. "Exactly what the Countess of Richmond wants. Princess Catherine will have Mary Fearnley back as her lady-in-waiting as soon as it is possible and Mary will be terribly poor, no use to Princess Catherine if she needs a favour or allies."

"And her ladies are unmarried," adds Maria.

" _Most_ of us," corrects Anne. "My husband is very rich - his mother is the Buxton heiress, Mary; she inherited everything when her father passed away and he was terribly rich thanks to both King Henry VI and King Edward IV. My mother-in-law is still alive, but she would give everything to her son in a heartbeat if he asked her too."

I nod. "Good," I reply. "It is not urgent yet, but if Lady Richmond moves against Princess Catherine then she will need all the allies she can get."

"My husband's sister was widowed from the same sickness that almost killed Prince Arthur," continues Anne. "Her husband had not yet inherited anything from his parents, as both of them still live, but my niece, Jane, will be wealthy enough to choose her own husband when the time comes. Should I send for her?" she asks, frowning. "Does Princess Catherine have room?"

"Will her grandparents let her come?" asks Maria.

"They do not have any say in the matter," replies Anne, before taking a drink of her goblet. "Sir Edward's will specified that Jane was to be raised by her mother, with monthly visits to her grandparents, until my sister-in-law sends her to be a lady-in-waiting or marries her to someone."

"Send for her," I reply. "I will speak with Princess Catherine later and we will find somewhere to put her. What's her surname? The Princess will ask."

"Porter," replies Anne. "Mistress Jane Porter."

 I nod in acknowledgement, keeping the name in memory for later.

"Prince Henry will be furious," notes Elizabeth Row, married to the eldest son of Baron Capewell. "With the birth of this child, he becomes one step further away from the throne."

"The tantrums of the Prince are of no concern to us," interrupts Maria. "He is at court, Prince Arthur is first in line and the child in Princess Catherine's womb, a son, god willing, will follow the Prince to the throne."

"Maria is right," I say. "Nevertheless, Prince Henry should be kept watch on - perhaps not now, but certainly when Prince Arthur becomes King and King Henry is not around to keep his son in line."

Whatever Maria is going to say next is cut off as Prince Arthur rises, holding a goblet up. "My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen," he begins, looking around the room. "While it is my pleasure to wish Lord and Lady Fearnley many happy years together, I to have an announcement to make. It gives me great pleasure to announce that Princess Catherine and I," he smiles down at her, smiling happily like an overindulged child who's just been given all the sweetmeats. "Are to be blessed with a child who, with god's blessing, will join us next year. To Princess Catherine -- my wife, and the mother of my heir!" he raises the goblet into the air.

"Princess Catherine!" we chant back, all raising our goblets and drinking in time with the Prince.

"Now, it's official," says Maria, quietly. "The pregnancy is announced and all eyes are on Princess Catherine. Lady Richmond will be furious that the Prince disobeyed her orders."

"Let her be angry," I say. "The Queen won't be and nor will the King. Let Lady Richmond and Prince Henry shout and rage; Princess Catherine is unassailable now. Even if she does not have a boy this time, she has proven herself fertile and boys will follow."

"Let us hope so," replies Maria. "Let us hope so."

I hope that I am right. We will either rise or fall with Princess Catherine -- and her rise brings the rise of my children, the rise of the Poles back to court, the rise of the Plantagenets back to our rightful places, back to where we belong.

All we need is a live child.


	4. Loyalty

**Disclaimer:** _The Tudors, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to History and Showtime. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter._

 **Rating:** _Mature. There will be sex._

 **Pairings:** _Arthur/Catherine, Henry VII/Elizabeth of York_

 **Genre:** _Romance/Drama_

 **Warnings:** _This story is an 'M' as it contains sex and may contain bad language; if these offend you, do not read this story._

 **Story Summary:** _What if Prince Arthur, eldest son and heir of King Henry VII, had not died in 1502 and had gone on to rule England with Catherine of Aragon as his Queen? Would the fate of England change or would history play out the same?_

 **Thank You:** _Thank you to Lady Eleanor Boleyn for brainstorming with me in the last stages of writing this story. If you like this, then go and read her stories. They're brilliant!_

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**Chapter IV: Loyalty**

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**September 1502**

**Tendring Hall, Stoke-By-Nayland** **\- Home of the Earl of Surrey**

"You have orders from the King?"

The speaker, Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, a man of fifty nine years, was tall, thin and grey haired; his face was stern, but the twinkle in his eyed revealed a kindness hidden inside him.

"I do," replied his son. Also called Thomas, the younger was a man of twenty nine, and was dark haired and stern. "The King wishes for Charles and Richard to go and serve the Prince of Wales at Ludlow Castle. Now that the Prince has recovered from his illness and Princess Catherine is pregnant, the King has decided that those who died in the same sickness that almost killed the Prince should be replaced."

"And he has chosen Charles and Dickon to go?" asked the woman sat with them. Agnes Tilney, Countess of Surrey, and stepmother to the younger Thomas, was a tall, plump, well dressed woman with long dark hair.

"No," replied her stepson, glancing across to her. "The Prince of Wales requested them out of a list of men provided by his father. He chose Richard and Charles from the list - two others as well, I hear, though I do not know who they are."

"Edward, fetch your brothers."

Edward Howard, twenty six, looked up from his plate with a frown, round face adorned with a frown. "Why me?" he bristled, glaring over at his father and brother. "Why not send John? He _is_ older."

"He is also incredibly sick," snapped his brother, before either his father or his stepmother could speak themselves. "And is likely to be dead within the year - within six months if we send him to do a job you can easily do. Besides, you need the exercise."

Edward huffed and threw his fork down, before stalking away to find their younger brothers. He returned a few minutes later with two of their younger brothers, Charles and Richard. Charles, at nineteen, was tall, flaxen and slim, while Richard, fifteen, was a head and a half shorter, dark and slim.

"You asked to see us, Father?" asked Richard, voice cracking with puberty.

"Yes," replied their father, getting to his feet. "The two of you have been chosen by the Prince of Wales to travel to Ludlow Castle and be one of his gentlemen. Four died in the sickness that almost killed the Prince and you are to replace two of them."

 The two boys looked at each other, then back to their father. "When are we leaving, Father?" asked Charles.

"As soon as the servants are done packing," he replied. "Thomas, Agnes, Edward, will you leave us for a moment?"

His wife and two sons left, leaving The Earl of Surrey with his two other sons. "Now," he began, standing opposite the two boys. "Remember who you two are in Ludlow. You are Howards, sons of the Earl of Surrey. You will stay loyal to one another - to our family. No matter what your brother says, titles and power are not everything. Without family, allies, the titles and power are useless for they will get you nowhere. The two of you are everything this family should be - kind, gentle, loyal."

The last part was definitely true; he was loyal, and Richard and Charles certainly were. Once, the Howards had resided in Framlingham Castle, but that had been taken from tem on the accession of the new King and given to the Earl of Oxford, and they now lived at Tendring Hall at Stoke-by-Nayland in Suffolk. Nonetheless, The Earl of Surrey knew that loyalty to the King was what was required to survive in the world and, though he knew his son and wife would not approve, he pulled his youngest two sons into his arms, embracing them tightly, all three of them crying gently.

As his sons pulled away, he could see the tears in Charles' eyes and the fear in Richard's. "Now, now, Dickon, don't be afraid," he said, cupping his son's round face, so open, so guileless, in his hand. "Charles will look after you."

"I will, Father," promised Charles, standing to attention like a soldier. "I will look after him - we'll make you proud."

"I know you will," he replied. "You two already have. Your mother would be so proud of you if she could see you now."

His sons smiled happily, but it didn't last long.

"Father?" The younger Thomas had returned. "The servants have finished packing. We have to go."

The Earl of Surrey frowned, then turned to his eldest son, who was stood in the doorway. "Very well," he said. "Boys, your brother will take you to Ludlow. Thomas, you are to return straight here once you have - I wish to know everything, and I believe you have not yet seen Anne since you returned."

To his credit, the younger Thomas blushed red. "No, Father," he replied. "I have not."

"See that you do once you return from Ludlow. She _is_ the Queen's sister and that relationship could be useful for you once Prince Arthur is King."

"Yes, Father," replied Thomas, ushering his brothers from the room. "I'll make sure that they get to Ludlow safely."

"Good."

  **~*~King Arthur II~*~**

**Ludlow Castle,**

**The Welsh Marches**

"My mother has written to me," said Arthur as he entered the chambers he shared with Catherine. "Court is in uproar."

"Why?" she frowned, looking up from her sewing. "What has gone wrong?"

"The Earl of Bickmore's former wife has come forward to contest the divorce," replied Arthur, scanning the letter. "My father wrote to the Pope when I was four, after their daughter died, to ask the Pope to annul a marriage that would not have any more legitimate issue - they had been childless for eight years after the birth of their daughter - and the Pope granted the annulment on the grounds that they had no surviving issue when their daughter died. Now, his former wife, Katherine Hudgens, has come forward, protesting the divorce."

"Lord Bickmore has been remarried since, has he not?" asked Catherine, frowning over to her lady-in-waiting, Margaret Pole.

"He has," replied Margaret, looking up from her sewing. "To Anne Lightman."

"Her name is familiar," said Catherine, still frowning. "Where do I know it from?"

"The new Lady Fearnley's mother, Margaret, is sister to Anne," replied Margaret, glancing up from her sewing. "Mary's letter to her aunt, the one person who could have stopped her wedding, was intercepted by Lady Godfrey and never sent. Or, so Sir Richard tells me."

Catherine frowned. "I see," she said, lips pursed at the knowledge that her ladies-in-waiting were having their letters intercepted. Turning her attentions back to matters at hand, she looked over to her husband. "Is the King siding with Lord Bickmore?"

"Yes," replied Arthur, sitting down on the side of the bed. "My Lady Grandmother is furious, so Mama writes. She sees the sanctity of marriage as something that cannot be undone -- and her son did it, without her knowing, years ago."

"Let Lady Richmond be angry," said Catherine. "If the King and the Pope both granted the annulment then it is final."

"My Lady Grandmother has sided with the former Lady Bickmore," Arthur informed her.

"She cannot reverse the Pope's command," added Margaret. "Nor the King's. The former Lady Bickmore cannot contest her husband's new marriage as God has blessed them with three sons and a daughter from this new union."

"God smiles upon them," noted Catherine. "So why does the former Lady Bickmore fight?"

"She is probably worried about her future," interrupted Margaret. "Lord Bickmore gives her an allowance to live on; if his sons or current wife are not inclined to do so once he is dead, then she will be left destitute. If her marriage is recognised as valid, then she will have everything when her husband dies."

"Everything except an heir," said Arthur, glancing over to the two women. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he leaned over and kissed Catherine. "The new gentlemen I sent for have arrived."

"Lord Surrey's sons?"

"Yes," he replied. "And the sons of the Barons Braithwaite and Wainwright."

Kissing Catherine again, he got up, smiled at her, glanced happily down at her just starting to thicken waist, and then left.

  **~*~King Arthur II~*~**

Arthur pushed himself up and down on the floor, his muscles bulging, his face red from exertion, sweat running gently down his face as he grunted on each push. Catherine, waist thickening, hair red and wild on the pillow, still slept gently in the bed.

He smiled as he slowed to a stop, thinking of his wife. She may have been pregnant, but he'd bedded her, every night, as if she wasn't - passionate, loving, possessed by lust. The one thing that made he and Henry similar; both loved passionately, both lusted after things they wanted - Catherine in his case, food in Henry's - and both could be loving when they wanted.

Loyalty, however, was something he wasn't sure Henry knew -- or, rather, loyalty to anyone but his family. He knew what Henry was like; he was loyal to his family, but where attractive women were concerned, he knew Henry would go through them like sweetmeats when he was old enough - as soon as he hit fourteen, he'd be bedding any woman that parted her legs to him and there would be no love there, no loyalty. Henry would lust after them, bed them, then drop them as soon as he'd had his fun. He'd sneak the women into his chambers, right under their father's nose. He'd probably sire a bastard before he even came of age, though he'd never acknowledge any until their father was dead.

He was cut off in his thoughts by the door opening; Charles Howard, flaxen and slim, was carrying a tray with a letter on it.

"Your Highness," he said, lowering the tray as Arthur, muscles still bulging, got up and took the letter, tearing it open with the knife on the tray. Putting the knife down, he sat on the edge of the bed and scanned the parchment in front of him.

"Thank you, Charles," said Arthur, flicking open the letter, scanning the page and dismissing the boy. "The Pope has thrown out the former Lady Bickmore's petition for her marriage to be declared valid."

Catherine, who had stirred awake as Charles had arrived, merely smiled. "Has Henry been informed of our child?" she asked, glancing up at her husband.

"Not yet," said Arthur, unable to help the smile creeping across his face. "He has been kept from the news. He'll be as sick as a sinner with the sweat when our child is born. Boy or girl, our child displaces him as second-in-line."

"That is cruel," replied Catherine. "You should write and tell him."

"I was planning on waiting until the birth," admitted Arthur, glancing across at her again. "I have been thinking of soothing him when his position is displaced. Our child will need godparents when it is born. I was thinking of Henry as godfather and your sister, Juana, as godmother for a girl."

"Your grandmother will protest," Catherine noted, frowning across at her husband from the bed. "Many people think my sister is mad; your Lady Grandmother will suggest herself, or your mother, or one of your sisters."

"My mother will have her chance," Arthur assured her. "My mother will be godmother to our son. My grandmother can protest all she likes -- it is my child - _our_ child - and our decision as to godparents is final."

  **~*~King Arthur II~*~**

**Richmond Palace,**

**London**

"The Infanta's sister!?"

It had taken mere days for the news, spilled by one of Catherine's ladies in a letter to her husband, to reach court. And it had taken roughly the same number of days for a summons from Margaret Beaufort to arrive at Richmond Palace in London. And, of course, it had taken a week for Ludlow to be packed up and sent off to Richmond to answer Lady Margaret's summons.

She may not have been Queen, but red faced, almost screaming in apoplexy, Margaret Beaufort looked every inch a terrifyingly tyrannical ruler. "You wish to create the Infanta's sister as godmother above I - A blood royal of England!"

Arthur stared up at his grandmother on the dais of the Throne Room of Richmond Palace. Catherine, by his side, had sunk into a curtsey, rising moments later at the command of the King, who was sat in the throne.

"I do believe, Lady Richmond, that the Queen's family are the blood royal of England. You come from a bastard - a noble bastard, perhaps, but a bastard nonetheless."

Catherine's interruption had caused Lady Margaret to go redder than ever; descending from the dais, the slap of her hand colliding with Catherine's face was loud enough to be heard in Ludlow. The King moved to stop his mother, Queen Elizabeth shot to her feet in seconds exclaiming "Lady Richmond!" in shock, Princess Mary wailed in fear and Princess Margaret clutched comfortingly to her younger sister, while Prince Henry stifled a smile and a snigger, Prince Edward gasped and Prince Edmund, not really understanding what was going on, clapped his chubby hands together in glee, laughing freely. Catherine barely avoided the floor, Arthur catching her mid-fall, as Margaret Pole scampered forward, taking the Princess, clutching at her stomach, aside.

Arthur watched her go, then whirled around to his grandmother. The look of unrestrained fury on her grandson's face was enough to make Margaret Beaufort realise that she had, perhaps, crossed a line. The sound that followed, the bone chilling, ear splintering sound of fist against face, was enough to confirm her thoughts.

Margaret Beaufort, however, was not lucky enough to have someone catch her. Her son was barely able to leap aside to avoid being crushed by his mother and Queen Elizabeth shrieked in terror, clutching at her own pregnant stomach and recoiling in horror, as her mother-in-law smashed against the ground, barely avoiding smashing her head into the tiled floor. As she heaved herself up into what resembled a sitting position, there was a flash of silver, the sound of a sword being unsheathed, and the long metal murder weapon was shoved under her throat.

Her grandson glared down the hilt of the sword at her and, for a moment, it looked like an angry King Edward was staring back at her. "Stay there," he hissed, voice quivering so much that he seemed almost unable to speak through his apoplectic fury, "Do not ever touch my wife again. You are my grandmother and I spare you - but only because you have my father's protection. Do remember that when I am King, I can make things very bad for you, Madame. Mother, father, with your permission, I'll take my leave."

Sheathing his sword, Arthur swept away to his wife's side.

"Why is Pwincess Cafwin holding her tummy, Mama?" squeaked Prince Edmund, clutching to his brother Henry's hand, as he stared up at Queen Elizabeth.

"Princess Catherine is with child, Edmund," replied the Queen, smiling indulgently down at her youngest child. "Like me."

The room went silent and anyone listening could have heard a pin drop. Prince Henry's grip on Edmund dropped instantly and he stared, gaping and horrified, face as red as his hair, up at his mother. "She's -?" he spluttered, "She - I - a child -?"

His expression darkened, his jaw set and, casting a glare to his brother and sister-in-law, he stalked away, the door to the throne room slamming shut behind him with such a crash that one of the servants guarding the room jumped.

"Let him go," said Arthur, sighing in annoyance as he crossed the room to his wife, holding her gently with one hand, the other on her stomach. "He'll accept it eventually. Catherine - are you and the baby alright? Lady Pole, take my wife back to our chambers - send for the physician, make sure she is alright."

Lady Pole nodded, dropped into a curtsey and took Catherine from the room. Arthur watched her go, swept into a bow and then left himself.

  **~*~King Arthur II~*~**

Catherine found her husband swimming in the lake in the grounds of Richmond Palace, so deep in thought that he failed to notice her approaching. It was only when she sat down in front of him as he reached the shore that he finally noticed her.

"What did the physician say?" he asked, grasping the side of the shore as he glanced up at her.

"Everything is fine," she assured him. "The physician assured me that no harm was done to our child - if I had been a little more pregnant, then perhaps, but at my current length it wasn't a problem."

"Good," he said, dragging his naked form out of the lake, splashing Catherine in water. "My apologies," he said, pulling her into a kiss. "I suppose this means that I will... just have to get you out of that wet dress, won't I?" his hands moved to the back of her dress, fiddling with the laces as he kissed his way down her neck. "You are so beautiful, Catherine. And all mine..."

Finally untying the laces, he lifted the dress over her, growled, grasped her by the waist and pulled her gently into the lake with him. As she gasped at the coldness, he swam up to her, crushed his lips against hers, lowered his hand and pulled her closed. "Mine..." he growled, passionately. "Mother of my children - this babe and many more. This beautiful face, these large breasts, your perfect plump buttocks."

"Arthur," she gasped, as he nipped at her neck in passion, their bodies as close as could be. "We'll sink."

"I'll protect you," he said, kissing her. "I promise. While I am here, no harm will come to you. A husband's vow to his wife."

"Will you still love me when I am as fat as a castle and as angry as a horse?" asked Catherine, as Arthur swam her back to the lake shore.

"Always," he said, carrying her ashore, wading awkwardly in the thinning water. "After all, it is my fault that you will be as fat as a castle and as angry as horse, is it not? I got you big with child."

"You did," she said, kissing him. "It was..." she blushed as red as her hair, "...rather enjoyable."

"Oh, it was, was it?" chuckled Arthur. Lowering her down onto the shore, he ran a hand through his hair and, drying himself in the heat, began to dress himself. "I am very glad of that. Why don't I try and make tonight just as enjoyable?"

She smiled. "You will," she said, lowering her dress over her body. "Lace me in?"

From the windows of her rooms in Richmond Castle, Queen Elizabeth watched from the window seat, smiling over her embroidery as her son laced his wife up and swept her up into a deep, passionate kiss, the two twirling around and toppling back into the grass. She had a feeling that her son would be rather hungry at dinner.

Closing the window, she got to her feet, hand on her pregnant stomach, and moved to her jewellery box standing on a desk in the corner of her room. Sitting down on the chair, she smiled to herself in the mirror and then opened the box. Sliding open one of the compartments, she pulled out a piece of parchment, unfolded it and glanced at it.

Her name, and that of all her sisters, were written across the page in her mother's scrawling handwriting. Over the years since her mother's death, she had added the births and deaths of her sister's children and her own. Now she had another to add. She inked her quill and drew a line from her son and Catherine. While she knew, better than anyone, that a son was required to keep the throne, she had always found her sister's daughters easier to get along with than their sons. Not that they had many of course - out of her four remaining sisters, only three boys, one recently dead, two alive.

Though she knew the importance of boys, this time she hoped it would be a girl - a pretty little red haired girl for her to spoil. A boy next time. It had, after all, taken her mother three girls before a boy. Smiling, she placed a hand on her stomach - a girl in there too, she was sure of it. As if to agree with her, a harsh kick came from the child inside.

Closing the parchment back up and hiding it inside her jewellery box, she sat there for a while, lost in her own thoughts, thinking back over her life; her mother, beautiful and fiery; her father, the warrior gone fat; her uncles, one a traitor, the other a usurper; her sisters, one dead, another constantly ill, a third a nun, the others married.

She couldn't sit there forever - the chair was hard and firm, and her window seat was much softer. Settling herself back in and returning to her embroidery, she glanced out the window once more. Her son and Catherine had gone - the cold weather obviously inspiring them to retreat indoors - and the sun was beginning to lower in the sky.

A knock at the door roused her from her embroidery, the servant informing her that it was time for dinner.

Rising, hand on her stomach, she headed towards her husband's rooms. 


	5. The English Princess

**Disclaimer:** _The Tudors, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to History and Showtime. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter._

 **Rating:** _Mature. There will be sex._

 **Pairings:** _Arthur/Catherine, Henry VII/Elizabeth of York_

 **Genre:** _Romance/Drama_

 **Warnings:** _This story is an 'M' as it contains sex and may contain bad language; if these offend you, do not read this story._

 **Story Summary:** _What if Prince Arthur, eldest son and heir of King Henry VII, had not died in 1502 and had gone on to rule England with Catherine of Aragon as his Queen? Would the fate of England change or would history play out the same?_

 **Thank You:** _Thank you to Lady Eleanor Boleyn for brainstorming with me in the last stages of writing this story. If you like this, then go and read her stories. They're brilliant!_

* * *

**Chapter V: The English Princess**

* * *

**March 31st, 1503,**

**Richmond Palace,**

**London, England**

Bells had been peeling in London for over a month to celebrate the birth of Princess Katherine and the subsequent recovery of Queen Elizabeth, who had suffered a very traumatic labour. They had barely fallen silent when they started ringing and peeling and clanging again.

María de Salinas thundered the length of Richmond Palace, skirt held high, shoes clattering across the floor. She nearly tripped over her own feet as she rounded the corner, knocked over Charles Howard, pushed past Mary Godfrey, almost ran into the The Earl of Derby, burst out of the door to the the gardens of the palace and went racing into the grounds. 

"Your Grace! _Your Grace!_ "

Prince Arthur whirled around at the sound of one of Catherine's ladies; his grandmother glanced up from where she was looking over Henry's shoulder. He and his siblings, along with their grandmother, were together in the garden, Edward and Edmund sword fighting, Henry having a lesson from his tutor, John Skelton, Margaret putting flowers into Mary's hair.

"Your Grace!" María wheezed, almost tripping over herself as she skidded to a halt; the Prince was frowning. "The Princess Catherine - the baby - I thought you would want to know."

"My god," breathed the Prince, face going whiter than ever. The book in his hands clattered to the ground as he took off in a run, back towards the castle.

"Arthur, you mustn't!" shrieked the Countess of Richmond, starting after him. "She's in confinement!"

The Prince either hadn't heard her or chose to ignore her; Maria, as she sprinted after the Prince and his grandmother, believed it was the latter.

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

 Princess Catherine's ladies, bustling around, linen and basins of water being ferried into her chambers, glanced up at the sound of voices outside the door.

"You mustn't, Arthur!"

"Get out of my way, Pole!"

"Arthur!"

_"MOVE, POLE, OR I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD!"_

The door to the antechamber in front of Catherine's bedroom almost smashed off its hinges as it flew open, revealing the pale faced Prince, who's eyes immediately flicked to the doorway, where screams were coming from within. 

"Your Grace," said Margaret Pole, greeting the Prince with a curtsey, briefly glancing around him at her husband and the Countess of Richmond. "Is there something we can help you with?"

"The Princess - Catherine -"

"Ah," said Margaret, "María did as I asked. Good, good. Come." She led Arthur further into the room as Inez de Venegas ferried a basin of water into Catherine's bedroom. "Her pains started in the early hours of this morning - she didn't want you to know yet - but when her full labour started, I thought you should be informed."

"How much longer?" he asked, barely able to take his eyes off the door. "Catherine - the baby - how much longer?"

"It could be hours," said Margaret, patting him affectionately on the arm. "Or days. The Princess Katherine was your mother's eighth child and it took her a whole day of labour, but Princess Catherine has youth on her side."

Prince Arthur looked sick; María de Salinas went scrambling into Princess Catherine's bedroom at the sound of another scream.

"Arthur - Arthur, you must come," said his grandmother as she took him by the arm, attempting to lead him from the room. "Lady Pole will tell you when the baby has come, when your son is here."

"No!" Arthur wrenched his arm from his grandmother's grasp, voice shaking as he clasped his hands together, wringing them around one another. "No. If... If something happens I-I want to be here. If I'm not it-it might be too late."

Catherine screamed and Arthur started, whirling around from his grandmother, staring at the door, face pale, as it swung open revealing María de Salinas.

"Lady Margaret, the Princess is asking for you," she said, glancing back over her shoulder. "Urgently."

"Forgive me, Your Grace," said Margaret, dropping into a curtsey. "But I must see to the Princess."

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

Arthur hadn't slept in two days, pacing repeatedly around the antechamber in front of his wife's bedroom. Wringing his hands together, at every bone chilling scream, his head snapped towards the door as Catherine's ladies came and went; Margaret Pole, for her part, hadn't left the room for several days. By now, a crowd of courtiers had established themselves outside the antechamber.

His grandmother had returned on many occasions to try and make him leave and sleep, sighting his only just recovered health, but he'd fought it every step of the way.

"Something's wrong," he said, glancing up at his grandmother; she, his father and siblings had arrived in Catherine's chambers a few hours prior. "Two days. Even Mama didn't take this long with Katherine. Something's wrong. It's taking too long."

Catherine gave her loudest shriek yet and Arthur started for the door, then froze in horror as everything fell deathly silent, the noises from inside Catherine's chambers stopping. "No..." he gasped, breath leaving him in one fell swoop. "No..."

Then, it happened - the shriek of a baby echoed from within and he couldn't help but laugh in relief as his breath returned to him. Crossing himself in relief, he pushed open the door to Catherine's chambers, ignoring all propriety. 

"Congratulations, Your Grace..." said Margaret Pole, dropping into a curtsey.

Arthur barely acknowledged her with a nod, eyes only focused on his wife as he was nearly knocked off his feet at the stuffiness of the room. Catherine, pale and sweaty, red hair stuck to her head, was sitting up in the bed, smiling down at a mewling infant that was being lowered into her arms by María de Salinas.

"Catherine..." he breathed, crossing the room and pulling his wife close, his lips pressed to her forehead. "Thank God. Thank God. I thought -" he let his thoughts die as he glanced down at the bundle in her arms. "What is it?"

"Arthur," Catherine glanced up at him, smile crossing her face. "Meet your daughter."

He couldn't help but laugh again, smile breaking across his face as he settled himself on the side of the bed and held out his arms for the infant to be placed into it. A tiny, red haired, dark eyed baby girl was staring up at him from the blankets. Lifting the blankets aside slightly, so that he could reach his daughter's face, he lowered a finger and tickled her cheek, making her laugh and kick her tiny legs. "What are we going to call her?" 

"Mary?" asked Catherine. "After your sister?"

He shook his head. "No," he said. "Isabella - after your mother. Three strong women; your mother, you, and our daughter."

Catherine nodded, smiling, as she leaned back against the pillows, groaning. "Isabella, Princess of England. Our little girl. Our Princess."

Arthur smiled and leaned across to kiss her. Rising, he glanced across to Margaret Pole, who rose from her curtsey. "Look after my wife, Lady Pole," he said. "I want to show my daughter off. I'll be back, Catherine."

Crossing the room, holding his precious girl close, he pulled open the door. At the sight of his smiling face, his grandmother immediately crossed herself in relief and Mary bounced over to him, tugging at his sleeves.

"Well?" She asked precociously, staring up at him. "What is it?"

"You will have to wait a little longer, father, for the dynasty to be secure," said Arthur, glancing across at his father. "Meet your granddaughter, Princess Isabella."

Princess Mary gave a shriek of delight and hugged Margaret, who's face had lit up in delight, while Princes Edward and Edmund giggled and clapped happily, jumping up and down in happiness. Despite the fact that the baby was not a son, the King's face lit up and he held out his arms for his granddaughter. Arthur lowered her gently down.

"Your mother said it would be a girl," said the King, as he gently tickled his granddaughter's cheek, sending peels of laughter through her. "She was right. The Plantagenets always seem to know - she said you would be a boy."

"It's just a stinky girl?" asked Henry, scrunching up his nose. His grandmother glared at him, but the look that Arthur gave him was enough to silence him on the spot.

"Mother," said the King, gently handing his granddaughter back to Arthur. "Inform everyone that England has a new Princess. Tonight, we celebrate!" With a roar of laughter, he left, ushering his children out

Arthur returned to Catherine's bedroom; as Margaret Pole closed the door behind him, he heard his grandmother's voice speak: "England has a new Princess."

Princess Isabella began to snuffle, wriggling agitatedly in her father's arms, and he handed her off to Margaret Pole, who waved a plump wet nurse over.

"She's beautiful, Catherine," said Arthur to his wife, swooping down to kiss her forehead. "Forgive me. I would love to stay, but I must tell Mama. And Brandon." He grinned. "I'm a father!"

Laughing, he scooped his daughter, who had finished suckling, out of the wet nurses arms, holding her close. "My little Isabella. Let's go and meet your grandmother. She's been looking forward to meeting you."

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

**April 2nd, 1503,**

**The Tower of London - The Royal Apartments,**

**London, England**

"Your Majesty, Prince Arthur is here. He seems very happy."

Queen Elizabeth glanced up from her embroidery at Anne Lindell, who had entered the room and dipped into a curtsey. "Thank you, Anne. Let him in."

Anne left, allowing Arthur to enter. At the sight of her smiling son, Elizabeth couldn't help but grin herself; the smile increased in size at the sight of the bundle of blankets in her son's arms. "Is this my grandchild?" she asked, holding out her arms. "I heard the bells. They're very loud in here."

"Mama," said Arthur, smiling. "This is your granddaughter, Isabella." He slowly and gently lowered his daughter into his mother's arms, making sure not to drop her.

"I knew it would be a girl," she said, smiling down at the babe in her arms. "We Plantaganets know these things."

"Father said exactly the same thing," said Arthur. "He said you knew I would be a boy."

"He's right," she said, tickling Princess Isabella's cheek. "I did. My mother, God rest her soul, knew I would be a girl, and her mother knew she would be a girl - I knew you would be a boy. Just as I knew Margaret would be a girl. Henry surprised me, I admit - I expected he would be a girl, but he came along and there he was, a plump little mewling boy - but I got everyone else right. Who's my beautiful little granddaughter?"

Princess Isabella mewled in her grandmother's arms, staring up at her with dark eyes. "You'll be a beautiful Queen one day, Isabella," said Elizabeth, pressing a kiss to her granddaughter's forehead. "I know you will be."

"She has her mother's hair," said Arthur, settling himself on the side of the bed. "And my eyes. A perfect mix of Catherine and I. I just hope she hasn't inherited the Tudor temper. I nearly ripped Grandmother apart when she tried to make me leave the antechamber outside Catherine's bedroom."

"I think she will have," said Elizabeth. "You all did; You, Margaret, Mary and Henry all have a temper and you've seen when Edward and Edmund throw a tantrum."

Arthur sighed, smiling ruefully down at his daughter. "For your sake, my sweet girl, I hope you handle it all better than we do."

Princess Isabella snuffled in her grandmother's arms and then began to whimper. Elizabeth handed her back to Arthur. "I think she wants her father," she said, smiling as Arthur's arms closed carefully around his daughter. Princess Isabella wriggled a little, then dropped off into small quiet, snuffling snores.

"How's Catherine?" asked Elizabeth, placing a hand on her son's arm.

"Alive," said Arthur. "I thought - I worried that I'd lost her, that I'd lost them both. She was in labour for so long. Two days."

"The first is always the longest," said Elizabeth reassuringly. "None of your siblings were anywhere near as long as you when it came to entering this world. I had Margaret within hours. Henry too. "

"Lucky for Scotland," said Arthur. "She'll be a wonderful Queen."

"She'll certainly surprise them."

Arthur laughed at his mother's words. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I think she will. Forgive me, Mama, but I must get Isabella back to her wet nurse."

"Of course."

Elizabeth watched her son go. She smiled, then picked up her embroidery and returned to working on it. "My little Isabella," she said. "One day, I will see you become a Queen."

**~*~King Arthur II~*~**

That night, Arthur sat at his desk, writing.

_To Your Most Catholic Majesty, Isabella, Queen of Castile, Leon and Aragon._

_By the time you read this letter, a letter to both you and your husband will, most likely, have been sent to you by my father. I wished to inform you myself - since my father and grandmother will not include it in the letter - of the name of your granddaughter. Please forgive the fact that I am writing to you specifically, but I took a small assumption in presuming that you and his Majesty King Ferdinand, like Catherine and I, inform one another of everything - I mean no offence or slight to him, but a bond between a mother and daughter is something special and Catherine wished you to be informed of our child's name._

_Princess Isabella of Wales was born this morning, the morning of April 2nd. I hope that you will take as much solace as I do in knowing that both mother and daughter are both healthy and well; Catherine recovered from the birth with surprising rapidity and our daughter can shriek very loudly when she is hungry. My grandmother will not include this next request in her letter as she disapproves, but would you or his Majesty King Ferdinand be willing to send someone to stand as godmother in lieu of your daughter, Joanna, who my wife wishes to be godmother? My daughter is half Spanish, and I wish for the relationship between our countries to remain strong and firm, for us to always remain allies._

_Arthur, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall, Earl of Chester._

Folding the letter up, he poured the wax onto the front and pressed his ring down into it, stamping his seal on the front. Placing it on the side of the desk and making a note to ask Lady Margaret to send it in the morning, he yawned, stretched and headed off to bed, smiling happily at the thoughts of his daughter and his wife.

For the first time in ages he felt cold without Catherine's body to warm his, without her there to fuck whenever his cock jumped at the thought of her. As he drifted off into a cold, frigid sleep, he made a note to ask the physician how long it would be before he would be able to part her legs and take her again and, once again, make her his.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment please! Tell me what you think!


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